Gary Grossman
Let Me Begin
1. Let me begin by restating truth, we all die,
a fact consciously and unconsciously swept to the back
of my fact-stuffed Christmas stocking of a brain, and a fact
we fight to ignore at the local gym by repping beyond
the recommended max. When the angel does knock
on my door I do hope the result is swift and topped with
an extra serving of dignity, no charge.
2. Let me begin with today's weather — the Polar Vortex descends,
a rippled curtain of glassy air, 29F, coating both white oaks and slow
squirrels. The sky, an ash gray ceiling built from the stuffings
of sweat-stained pillows. Winter skies in Georgia play dress-up
like this, and we locals respond with puffer jackets,
wool-lined pants, and beanies pulled down over our ears.3. Let me begin by finishing my daily five miles, part-jog,
part-fast-walk, a blatant attempt to outrun death. In my eighth
decade I am blessed with good health — just mild Type-II
diabetes and slightly displaced L4 and L5 vertebrae.4. Let me begin by recounting the assault, one May morning,
by my back — feet suddenly all tingly, in a tweener,
Taylor Swift kinda way, and pain lashing my butt and legs
the way storm waves crash a beach. My first date with Old Age
was disturbing as a mismatch from Oh Cupid. Four weeks
of Celebrex and a return ticket on the exercise
train restored my routine.5. Let me begin with my almost finished jog, where I ran
into friends John Doe and wife Jane, headed down our block
towards their home, on the dead-end of our street I jokingly call
Lower Westview. John and Jane are MD and RN respectively.6. Let me begin by finishing our morning salutations, after which
John tells me the reason he hasn't been around lately
(we are jogging and gym buddies) is because he has just been
diagnosed with carcinoid cancer. This rare, slow-growing cancer,
whose physical manifestation is more precisely termed
neuroendocrine tumors (NET), now grips several organs
of his body. Currently, carcinoid cancer is incurable.7. Let me begin with my heart skipping a few beats — then I lose
the power of speech. John is very fit and works out daily at our gym.8. Let me begin by extending my arms to meet John's embrace
and hugging him tightly.9. Let me begin by telling John he is free to tell me as much
or as little will bring him comfort. He pulls back slightly
from our embrace and says No it feels good to tell friends.
Actually, I am relieved to tell people I'm close to,
it does feels good.10. Let me begin with John reaching out at various points
in our conversation to pat my forearm in reassurance.
Tears puddle in Jane's eyes but remain in place.11. Let me begin by sealing my lips like a clamshell to prevent questions escaping.
12. Let me begin by letting John describe what doctors
have found and his prognosis. Throughout, he speaks
with immense dignity and quiet equanimity
that bypasses brain and flows directly to my heart.
I remain silent, to preserve the sanctity and trust
of the moment.13. Let me begin by reminding myself that John has many
more years to live, and hopefully many more happy moments
to seize.14. Let me end with John at the gym doing his normal workout.
Our conversation drifts toward the weather, what's playing
at the local art house theater, and getting together for
a beer. The Polar Vortex has retreated to its northern shell —
frigid pincers fully retracted, and temperatures back
to the normal high 40's, even mid-50s. The snow remains
in shady patches, dingy and old looking.
Gary Grossman enjoys writing and sharing his work. His poetry books Lyrical Years (Kelsay), What I Meant to Say Was… (Impspired Press), and Objects in Mirror May Be Closer Than They Appear (Arroyo Seco) and his graphic memoir My Life in Fish—One Scientist’s Journey…(Impspired) all are available via his website or Amazon. Gary's hobbies include running, music, fishing, cooking and gardening. https://www.garygrossman.net/